R&I - Breakfast With Her Shadow
by Fenway03
Summary: Of muffins, autopsies, and late-night kisses — a day in the life of a certain Chief Medical Examiner.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**__ Someone challenged me to write a fic that focuses on Maura and explains why she often is a bit somber in my other stories (I prefer Season 1 Maura and usually use that as reference). And I do indeed write from Jane's perspective most of the time, so I thought that was a great suggestion. Thanks for the idea, mholder! _

_Technically, the fic stands on its own, but you can also treat it as a sequel that happens a few months after the events of either "Monday, Monday" or "Killing Me Softly" (if you've read those)._

_The fic's title refers to a Cloud Cult song — fabulous band and currently one of my acoustic inspirations. (The "Unplug" version of "Breakfast With My Shadow" from 2014 is best.)  
As usual, the characters belong to Tess Gerritsen/TNT, the rest does not. :-P_

_Given the challenge, there are some somber undertones again, but I promise there's a happy ending. Like last time, the story is complete and only split into three chapters for easier readability. So, here's my attempt at walking in Maura's shoes. Figuratively speaking. Because, really, I'd look like a drunken giraffe if I tried to walk in her actual shoes…_

* * *

_**(PART I)**_

...

It usually takes her brain less than sixty seconds to switch from its state of curbed activity by night to its preferred mode of full operation by day. Less than sixty seconds to rouse her prefrontal cortex, to jump-start her working memory, to cache a multitude of facts and figures waiting to be released. And less than sixty seconds to let her body follow suit and to slide out of bed, ready and eager to face the challenges of the new day.

But not on this hot and humid August morning.

At 6:55 a.m., Maura Isles is still wrapped into the cool silken sheets of her queen-sized bed, lying prone with her eyes closed and her arms outstretched, and lacking any enthusiasm to follow her normal wake-up routine. Maybe it is because of the already simmering heat. Maybe it is because of the particular nature of this day. Or maybe — and most likely — it is because she has been forced to sleep alone for the third night in a row.

Well, almost alone. Her drowsiness still clouding her vision, Maura squints at the furry Yorkshire terrier snoozing between two pillows in the other half of the bed. But despite the puppy's undeniable adorableness, she would very much prefer to find the usual occupant of those pillows by her side. Unfortunately, the presence of Jane Rizzoli is currently required approximately 190 miles away at a management seminar for law enforcement officers in New York.

On the one hand, Maura certainly approves of Jane's recent exploration of her future career options, which has resulted in her attending courses all over the country to help her climb up the ladder and become the lead liaison for the FBI's Boston Violent Crimes Task Force — a position as challenging as her duties as a BPD detective but with a considerably lower risk of being gunned down in the street. And Maura also approves of the fact that it was Jane herself who wished to reduce the level of danger in her life, driven by the desire to spend more of that life in the medical examiner's Beacon Hill home.

But on the other hand, Maura certainly does not approve of the current consequences of Jane's career ambitions — the unused sheets next to her own, the return of the long forgotten silence in her house, the missing touch of lean fingers gently reaching over and wiping a strand of hair from her face before tickling her cheeks and traveling down her arm…

As if the yearning of her senses has somehow reached a certain detective in New York, Maura's cell phone suddenly buzzes under her pillow. Sleepily, she fumbles for the device while trying to remember how long exactly she and Jane talked the night before. Concluding that she must have fallen asleep at some point in the middle of their chat, she opens Jane's text message on her phone's display.

_please tell me i'm not up before you… that would be so wrong…_

A spontaneous smile filling her face, Maura ponders her response when she notices Jo Friday peeking at her suspiciously, as if the little dog is sensing that it was her owner who sent that text. Reassuringly, the blonde pats the sheet beside her to lure the terrier closer, waits until the grunting ball of fur has curled up under her arm, then snaps a picture of them both with her phone and attaches it to her reply to Jane.

_Does it look like we're up…?_

Absentmindedly running her fingers through Jo Friday's wavy fur, Maura waits until her phone finally buzzes with another message.

_looks like jo friday is a damn lucky dog right now… and fyi, the coffee at this place still tastes like dishwater! :-(_

Unable to hide her amusement at the thought of a sleep- _and_ coffee-deprived Jane, Maura lets her fingers glide over her phone's screen to enter her response.

_I'm sure the green tea tastes much better. You should try it…_

She barely has enough time for some stretching and a stifled yawn before her phone buzzes once more.

_it's amazing how you manage to sneak in some naggin even in a short text…_

Without giving Maura any chance to respond, the device quickly alerts her of another message, a brief addendum to the previous complaint.

_but i love you anyway :-) _

Not surprisingly, the warm smile gracing Maura's lips instantly triggers Jo Friday's jealousy. With a loud bark, the terrier hops off the bed and expectantly glares at the blonde as she is sending off another text.

_I think Jo Friday wants to go for a walk. Are you sure you don't need a ride from the airport tonight?_

Suppressing another yawn, Maura rolls out of bed, her lightly tanned skin barely covered by a cream-colored negligee. She pulls open the window curtains, then hurries back to her buzzing phone.

_yup, already made arrangements… i'll see you as soon as i get back. can't wait. xoxo_

Her heart pounding in anticipation, Maura pads to the bathroom, reaches for a washcloth, but then pauses in front of the mirror and studies her reflection for a while. Wondering… remembering… all those days on which she forced a smile on her face in order to stimulate the associated physical response… to convince herself and her body that she was happy with the way things were… even though she was not…

But today, her smile appears voluntarily and grows even brighter at the thought of the little drawings and secret messages that so often mysteriously manifest themselves on her steamy bathroom mirror, courtesy of the detective now frequently spending the night at her house.

Just as she closes her eyes, trying to invoke the feeling of Jane's gentle touch, a bark from Jo Friday sitting in the door frame rips her from her reverie. "Sorry, just give me ten minutes," she pleads apologetically before slipping out of her negligee and into the shower.

…

Shortly after 7:30 a.m., Maura and Jo Friday return from a quick stroll through their still awakening affluent neighborhood. Lightly clad in a sleeveless summer dress and matching peep-toe heels, the blonde finally settles into a rhythm for her long day ahead and sashays to her kitchen in search for a suitable morning snack.

She doesn't have to search for long. In the middle of the granite counter, not to be missed, waits a plate of peeled and chopped fruits, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a greeting card filled with the curved handwriting of the elder Rizzoli woman still inhabiting the guest house next door.

Thankfully scanning Angela's message, Maura takes a sip of the fruity juice and lets a slice of peach disappear in her mouth before brewing herself a cup of steaming coffee.

And for a moment, as she stands in the silence of the great room and slowly stirs the fine blend in her cup, it almost feels like one of those myriad mornings she so often spent alone in her house… those countless breakfasts with her shadow… the solitude sometimes shared with her tortoise… the reptile's serene demeanor only accentuating the quiet of her home… and all those times she wondered whether things would one day change… if she truly believed in it… would she finally wake up to something different?

And then one day, that change came, and it was neither quiet nor gradual but boisterous and sudden, personified as a vivacious detective who invaded her home and her heart. And after a while, that change became permanent. Silence was replaced by hearty laughter. Loneliness gave way to love.

And even though she is once again alone now, the presence of said detective is felt in every corner of the house — by the not-so-secret stash of instant coffee and chocolate chip cookies in her cupboard; by the chessboard on the dinner table with their unfinished match waiting to be resumed; by the wrinkled Red Sox shirt that ended up between the couch cushions during their last intimate rendezvous before Jane's departure for New York.

Letting a smile grace her lips at the prospect of their reunification at the end of the day, Maura finishes her coffee and gathers her belongings to leave for work.

After a quick stop in the back of her house to say goodbye to her tortoise nibbling some leaves and to Jane's terrier contently chewing her treats, Maura returns just in time to hear a tired knock on the front door.

Curious about her unexpected visitor's identity, she opens the door and is greeted by a college-aged boy, who manages to look even sleepier than Jane on her worst days. His eyelids hanging low, he hands her a colorful bouquet of flowers and a small package with her favorite organic bakery's logo imprinted on its wrapping.

"Are you Maura Isles?" the kid asks, his question merging into a drowsy yawn.

"Yes…," Maura nods and waits for him to fish a pen out of his shirt's pocket, then signs the receipt and accepts her delivery.

He tips his baseball cap and mumbles a few words barely resembling a "have a nice day," then trudges off towards his van.

Shaking her head as she watches him drive away, Maura unknots the gift ribbon of the box in her hands, then carefully removes its wrapping and peeks inside — and involuntarily hums in delight at the sight of the two muffins she finds. Upon taking a closer look, however, she scrunches her nose and doubtfully scrutinizes the darker of the two muffins, whose chocolate dough filled with extra chocolate chunks stands in stark contrast to the much healthier appearance of its lighter companion. Before daring to take a bite, Maura checks the card attached to the flowers, recognizes Jane's squiggly handwriting.

_Alright, here's the deal: I got you your organic tofu muffin-wannabe, but you'll also have to try the other one. Tonight I'm gonna ask you which one you liked better. And I swear, if you pick that pseudo muffin of yours without breaking into hives, I'll have to reconsider this relationship! Just sayin…  
__Love ya.  
__Jane_

Her enamored smile mixing with a shade of panic caused by the impending investigation of her dietary preferences, Maura hurries back to her kitchen, places the flowers in a vase, then grabs the muffins in their box as well as her bag and leaves her Beacon Hill home.

Once in her car, she glances at the muffins on the passenger seat, reaches for her cell phone, and enters a quick text. After a moment of hesitation, she sends it to Jane.

_In case you'd like to reconsider this relationship tonight, I might have to elope with this hot deliveryman who just knocked on my door. Just saying…_

As her dark Prius merges with the morning rush-hour traffic, her phone immediately buzzes with a response.

_not funny!_

Seconds later, while she is waiting at a traffic light, another message pops up.

_so which one is better?_

With the untouched muffins still sitting in their box on the other seat, Maura ponders Jane's message, hesitates again, but then decides that today she is certainly allowed to be a little feisty. The corners of her mouth twitching with amusement, she enters her response.

_The deliveryman or you? I haven't decided yet…_

This time, her cell phone remains quiet, as if the device has joined the recipient of her text for a momentary period of pouting. But eventually, it buzzes again.

_:-/_

Before Maura gets a chance to respond, the traffic light turns green and she focuses her attention on the solid line of cars slowly crawling down the street. Apparently sensing her distraction, her phone buzzes impatiently.

_:'-(_

Quietly chuckling to herself, Maura lets her fingers slide over her phone's virtual keyboard once more.

_While I find your pictographic responses fascinating, I'm almost at BPD and have to stop. But for your information, the deliveryman is long gone and wasn't half as cute as you are._

Her confession is rewarded with an instant response.

_:-D_

Without even trying to hide the bright smile on her own face, Maura parks her Prius in a side street next to BPD Headquarters, grabs her bag and the muffins, and heads for the building's main entrance.

And she almost makes it to the elevators down to the Crime Lab and to the Chief Medical Examiner's premises. Almost.

"Maura?!" a determined voice calls out from the Division One Café.

Before the woman of said name has any chance to escape, Angela Rizzoli storms out of the café and wraps her into her arms. "I'm sorry I had to leave so early this morning…"

"It's okay… but thank you… for the little surprise," Maura squeezes out, trying to squirm away. When she doesn't succeed, she gives up her resistance and accepts the elder Rizzoli's embrace as a temporary substitute for a hug from the younger version still stuck in New York. "But I'm actually in a hurry. I have to—"

"Whatever you have to do can certainly wait a few more minutes," Angela insists and finally lets her out of her arms.

"Actually, no," Maura objects. "An unidentified woman was brought in late last night and I'd like to get started as soon as possible."

"That woman isn't going anywhere, is she?" Faced with the blonde's look of indignation, Angela shrugs apologetically. "Well, I've been instructed to sit you down for breakfast, and I had to promise I wouldn't take no for an answer…"

Taking the subtle hint at the mastermind behind this breakfast plot, Maura smiles thankfully and attempts once more to get away. "I won't tell Jane."

But Angela still holds her back. "Honey, when was the last time you have successfully kept something secret from Jane?"

"Well, I…," Maura starts confidently and pauses abruptly, grasping for an answer.

"Believe me, I find your inability to lie adorable… but not if it gets me into trouble with Jane." With a sympathetic smile, Angela puts her arm around Maura's shoulder and gently pushes her into the café. "So, how about some pancakes?"

Heaving a sigh, Maura slides onto a stool at the counter. "Can you at least make them to go?"

And even though the Rizzoli matriarch sternly raises her eyebrows at first, she eventually nods before scurrying into the kitchen.

Waiting for her to return, Maura absentmindedly lets her eyes wander over the busy café, nods politely to the cop sitting next to her, tries to blend in the way she so often does. Her uneasiness when around people may have subsided over the years. And the whispers behind her back about the Queen of the Dead may have faded as well. But somewhere deep inside, she knows that she is still the outsider, tolerated by the group only due to her nearness to one of their leaders. She is the one who wears Alexander McQueen when everybody else dresses in uniforms and clothes off the rack. She is the one who feels sympathy with her mobster father when everybody else can't wait for his final conviction. She is the one who is fascinated by death when everybody else strives to help victims survive. She is the one who doesn't belong.

And on this particular day, this realization is even harder to shake.

Before her thoughts can drift off any further, Angela returns with a styrofoam cup of green tea and a small plastic container filled with bunny pancakes. She places both items on the counter and admonishingly eyes the blonde. "Will I at least see you for lunch?"

"I'll try, but I have a really full schedule," Maura concedes and reaches for her breakfast.

"Even today?" Disappointment resonates in the elder woman's voice.

"It's a day like any other," Maura points out quietly. Forestalling any potential protest, she takes her food with a thankful smile, and hurries out of the café.

"No, it's not," Angela murmurs to herself as she watches the medical examiner disappear towards the elevators down to her office.

…

Fifteen minutes later, Maura is dressed in her scrubs and stands at one of the morgue slabs in the autopsy room next to her office and silently studies the body that was brought in the night before. Partly covered by a bare white cloth, the corpse has already been prepared, stripped off its clothes, measured and weighted, photographed and tagged. And even though the distinctive features of the dark-haired woman are striking even in death, the inevitable demise of her naked body has long begun. With the rigidity of rigor mortis already dissipated and the lifeless remains as cold as the sterile lab, patches of epidermis are slowly slipping off, and the woman's skin is marbling and gradually turning black. Accelerated by this August's humidity and heat, the body's putrefaction is almost complete, and the bloating of its abdomen and extremities will soon subside. And in an ironic natural twist, right there in the midst of decay and death, new life begins. One after another, blowfly eggs embedded in the body's moist openings and wounds hatch into maggots and voraciously feast on the woman's organs and flesh.

And there are plenty of wounds on the woman's body. Bruises that are still discernible on her prominent cheekbones. Scratches that cover her wrists and her hands. And those gunshot wounds that tell the gruesome story of her death.

Wondering what may have caused the woman to be attacked with so much rage, Maura closely examines the five entrance wounds. The first two on her kneecaps — visual reminders of those bullets that prevented her from running away. The next two on her shoulders — from bullets that were meant to shatter her clavicle and render her arms immobile, or to simply inflict pain. And the final point of entry on her forehead. Dead center. Sealing her fate.

After her initial assessment, Maura takes a step back and skims the document detailing the discovery of the body by a hapless dog walker, who stumbled upon it between the trash in a quiet alley near Dorchester Avenue. Since the woman did not carry any ID nor match any missing person reports, all attempts to determine her identity right at the scene were doomed to fail. And thus, at least for now, she is just another Jane Doe.

Another _Jane_.

Feeling her stomach tense up at the thought, Maura quickly resumes her work. To give that woman a name. To fight her own lingering fears. To push back her worries that some day the woman on her table might really be Jane.

Carefully, she removes the plastic bags still protecting the woman's blood-smeared hands, then checks each of her fingers for one that might yield a usable print. After several unsuccessful attempts, the mobile scanning device finally captures the ridges, deltas, and grooves required for any meaningful further analysis.

Just as Maura has verified the proper storage of all information on the device, Susie enters the lab.

"Doctor Isles! Ha—"

"Susie! Perfect timing," Maura cuts her off with a collegial smile. "Would you please get these prints to Detective Randall? We need an ID for this woman as soon as possible."

"Yes, sure," Susie confirms but then hesitates, wondering about the proper protocol.

Sensing the senior criminalist's indecision, Maura sets the tone. Business as usual. "And do we have the lab results for Detective Vogler's case already?"

"Uh, no, but they're expected to come in this afternoon." Susie straightens herself, filled with the desire to do at least _something_ special for her superior today. "I can call them again and ask them to prioritize the tox screen if you want…"

"No, this won't be necessary. Thank you," Maura declines politely and points at the fingerprint scanning device. "But these prints are rather urgent."

"Oh, yes, of course," Susie nods. And after one last awkward pause, she finally hurries out of the lab.

Remaining behind with the still nameless victim's body, Maura continues her external examination. With meticulous precision, she documents every scratch, every wound, every scar on the decaying corpse before securing the fibers caught under the woman's dirty fingernails and retrieving one of the bullets lodged in her shoulder.

After taking samples of the woman's urine and blood, Maura quietly proceeds with the step she always dreads most. Suppressing a sigh, she lifts the cloth covering the woman's genitalia and thoroughly checks for any signs of rape or assault.

Minutes later, she concludes with relief that, at least in this regard, the woman has been spared.

…


	2. Chapter 2

**_(PART II)_**

...

It is shortly past 10 a.m. when Maura's stomach resorts to drastic measures and reminds her with a grumbling growl that there are three bunny pancakes sitting in a plastic container on her desk, still untouched and waiting to be devoured.

Reluctantly realizing that she should indeed take a break before beginning with the unidentified woman's internal examination, Maura pauses her autopsy, takes off her gloves, and trudges into her office.

And as she takes the first bite and the sweet taste of Angela's special morning treat fills her mouth, the grim reality of her task waiting next door is momentarily pushed to the back of her mind, replaced by memories of lazy Sunday mornings at home… with the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling her house… and the quiet humming of the elder Rizzoli woman accompanying her breakfast preparations… and sleepy-eyed Jane teasingly grinning at her from the couch…

But then a sudden knock on her office door jolts her out of her dream.

"Doctor Isles?" Susie stands in the door frame, fidgeting with a report in her hands, her face filled with guilt over having interrupted the medical examiner's break.

"Yes, what is it?" Still chewing on that last piece of pancake, Maura puts away the plastic container and expectantly waves the young criminalist into her office.

Promptly stepping inside, Susie nods towards the body on the autopsy table behind the glass windows. "We have an ID for that woman…"

Noticing her assistant's hesitation, Maura rises from her chair and takes the report from Susie's hands.

"Detective Randall was called to a scene," Susie explains, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other. "So, no one has been notified yet…"

A frown fills Maura's face as she lets her eyes wander over the woman's profile in the report. "She's… a cop…?"

"I'm sorry…," Susie offers shyly, very much aware of the thoughts running through her superior's mind.

"Unless you're responsible for putting those five bullets into this poor woman's body, there is nothing you have to be sorry for." Without waiting for a response, Maura walks back into the autopsy room, her eyes still focused on the report.

And for a few seconds, Susie simply watches her through the windows, unsure what to do. But then, at the sight of the medical examiner standing in silence behind the morgue slab, she fishes her cell phone out of her lab coat's pocket, begins to enter a text, and sneaks out of the office.

Inside the autopsy room, Maura still studies the profile of the woman, who finally has a name. Lindsay O'Malley. A detective from South Boston, District C-6. Who just turned 35. Who was on her way up the ladder in her department. And who is now dead.

Leaning against the autopsy table, Maura reaches for her own cell phone and calls the number of O'Malley's superior. Contemplating the woman's features, she waits until a tired male voice answers. "Sergeant Holder…"

"Hello, this is Doctor Isles, Chief Medical Examiner," she says, attempting to hide the insecurity that always resonates in her voice during these kinds of calls. "I'm afraid I have some information… bad information… regarding Lindsay O'Malley…"

A heavy sigh on the other end of the line makes any further explanations obsolete. "Can we meet after lunch? I'll come to your office…?"

"Yes, I will be here," Maura confirms.

"Alright…," the man murmurs, then hangs up with another sigh.

As the room is once again wrapped in silence, Maura puts on a new pair of gloves, gathers the required instruments for the woman's internal examination, and selects one of the scalpels to begin with the Y-incision. But as soon as the cold steel touches Lindsay O'Malley's battered skin, Maura pauses and lets the scalpel sink down.

_She is a detective._

Unable to focus on the task at hand, Maura's mind revisits all the facts currently known about the case. _She is a detective… and she got shot… brutally… as if in an act of revenge… and then they left her behind like a piece of trash…_

And inevitably, one thought leads to another. _Whom was she investigating? Did someone betray her? Maybe a CI? Or a corrupt cop? Another Bobby Marino…?_

Suppressed agony wells up in her heart at the thought of the siege at BPD a few years ago during which they almost lost Jane. Yearning for a quick chat with the detective, or at least for any sign of life, Maura takes a step back, breathes in and out to stifle her irrational fears. After all, Jane is in New York, safe and alive and out of harm's way. There is no reason to worry.

And yet, it is one of those instances when logic and emotions simply collide.

Giving up her attempts to continue the autopsy, Maura reaches for her phone and enters a short message but then hesitates and stares at the cursor expectantly blinking on the display.

_I miss you…_

After another moment of contemplation, she erases the message again. It is too obvious. Jane would immediately see through it and know that something is wrong. And as usual, she would worry and drop everything and maybe even skip the rest of her training in New York. But despite her current longing, this isn't what Maura wants. Not for herself, and especially not for Jane. No more ultimatums. No more playing the guilt card the way Casey always did, and the way everybody else still does when they need Jane.

Resolutely, Maura puts her phone aside and directs her attention to Lindsay O'Malley on her table. She has performed hundreds of autopsies before, and clearly, she will manage this one as well. She just needs to concentrate, to push all those distracting thoughts to the back of her mind, to focus on the feeling of the scalpel in her hand and—

The sudden buzzing of her phone rips her out of her routine once more. And when a new text from Jane pops up on her display, a smile of relief fills her face.

_finally done with last session. back to hotel now, then airport. how about a little dirty talk while i'm stuck in the cab? ;-)_

Feeling a faint blush warm her cheeks, Maura quickly types her response.

_I can't. I'm at work right now._

But before she gets a chance to resume her work, her phone already buzzes with another message.

_so? that didn't hold you back last time…_

Her thoughts definitely straying off again, but in a very different direction, Maura quickly sends another response.

_I'm serious. I'm in the middle of an autopsy._

As if to remind herself, she clutches her scalpel a little tighter and bends over O'Malley's body again. But when her phone rings and Jane's name blinks on its display, all attempts to focus are completely in vain. Sighing to herself, Maura answers her phone. "Yes…?"

"Why are you answering your phone if you're in the middle of an autopsy?" Jane doesn't even try to conceal the triumphant tone in her voice.

"Because you called," Maura explains patiently. "And I have sufficient empirical data to conclude that you won't stop calling unless I answer my phone."

"Sufficient empirical data?" Jane repeats teasingly. "I like it when you use your fancy science words…"

"Jane…" Tempted to give in to her needs, to both their needs, Maura leans against the autopsy table. "I really can't talk right now…"

Apparently unwilling to give up, Jane changes the subject. Casually. "What case is your autopsy for?"

But the change in tone comes a bit too sudden, and Maura furrows her brows in suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious…"

"Did Susie call you?"

"Nope." Jane quickly forestalls any further inquiries. "So, what case is it for?"

"It's… not important," Maura decides. It would be so easy to just dump all her worries on Jane. Too easy. And too unfair. "I just want to be done before you get back tonight."

There is a brief pause on the other end of the line, a pause of mutual understanding. "Well, my plane won't leave for another few hours," Jane finally gives in. "So… you know… if that case becomes important at some point, just give me a call, okay?"

"Okay…," Maura whispers thankfully.

"I'm almost at the hotel…," Jane informs her after another moment of silence. "So, I'm gonna let you get back to your work…"

"Thank you for calling," Maura says softly, sensing that Jane's call wasn't as spontaneous as she was supposed to believe.

"Sure… oh, and last chance," Jane suddenly adds gleefully. "Want me to bring some tacky souvenirs?"

"Please, don't," Maura instantly objects. "I'm still apologizing to Bass for what you brought from Florida."

"Come on, I'm sure he thought it was funny." Jane's snickering mixes with the noise of New York traffic in the background.

"There is nothing funny about a cookbook with turtle recipes, Jane," Maura grumbles.

"You should've seen your face!" Jane barely manages to hold back her laughter. "Totally worth it…"

"I'm going to hang up now," Maura announces, her mood much lighter after their little chat. "You have a safe flight."

"Okay… byeee," Jane giggles into the phone.

Shaking her head in amusement, Maura puts her phone away, then turns to the dead woman on her table. The woman who isn't Jane. Because Jane is alive and well and on her way home.

But Lindsay O'Malley won't be back home tonight. And her killer still needs to be found.

Determined to do what she can to let justice prevail, Maura reaches for a scalpel to resume her autopsy. With a practiced Y-incision, she opens up the front of the woman's body, splits the decaying corpse wide open, and removes the lungs, the heart, the liver, the stomach, the intestines. Now completely absorbed in her work, she takes samples of each organ, then continues with her examination of the woman's internal genitalia and her pelvic region. Having confirmed the lack of any signs of rape or assault, Maura directs her attention to O'Malley's head, makes a precise intermastoid incision, pulls back the scalp to expose the skull. With an electric saw, she cuts a wedge-shaped opening into the skull to gain access to the brain, removes it in its entirety, weighs it, and carefully frees the fifth bullet lodged deep within the cerebral matter.

Once she is done with her examination, Maura returns all of the woman's internal organs to the body's cavities, closes it up, and documents her findings. Calm and composed. Suppressing any emotional thoughts. She collects all bullets and fragments in a small evidence bag, and adds information on the estimated distance of the shooter to her notes.

Shortly before 1 p.m., Maura is finally done with the process and has changed back into her regular clothes. With a heavy sigh, she sinks into her chair in her office, signs Lindsay O'Malley's death certificate, and closes the case file.

And for a few minutes, she simply leans back and waits for the smell of death still lingering in her nose to fade away. Another autopsy completed. Another victim stripped off her remaining dignity. Another violent death reconstructed in a feeble attempt to bring clarity and consolation to those who remain behind.

Eventually, Maura rises from her chair, snatches her purse from her desk, and heads out for lunch. Though she considers accepting Angela's invitation, she quickly decides in favor of a restaurant in the immediate neighborhood. Given the Rizzoli matriarch's constant need to pry news and gossip out of everybody who doesn't manage to get away, the risk of accidentally blurting out the gruesome details of Lindsay O'Malley's demise is just too high. And Angela would inevitably see the obvious parallels, and her ever-present concerns about her daughter's safety would overshadow the rest of her day.

Besides, the meeting with O'Malley's superior is looming on Maura's schedule, and even after all those years, the thought of having to bear the bad news still causes more discomfort than all of her autopsies combined.

Pushing her panic to the back of her mind, Maura hurries past the Division One Café and out of the BPD building, struts down the street, and soon reaches a small Mexican restaurant just two blocks away.

Minutes later, she finds herself sitting at a table near the windows, relaxed and undisturbed, with a plate of _chiles en nogada_ all to herself. It may be a slight deviation from her usual dietary preferences, but ever since her first visit two years ago, she and Jane have spent enough dinner dates at this place for all the waitresses to know their names. It is a compromise. One of so many. Locally sourced veggies for herself, and some oh-so-desired beef for Jane. And on a day like this, comfort food and memories of the detective devouring her burger across the table are just the right ingredients to lift her spirits. And as she takes another bite from her mild poblano peppers, a faint smile slowly finds its way onto her face.

…

Shortly after her lunch break, just as Maura is about to sit back down in her office chair, an elderly man in a suit only slightly more wrinkled than his face steps into the door frame and quietly clears his throat.

Still not quite ready for this dreaded conversation, Maura looks up and recognizes the sergeant from a BPD charity auction a few months ago.

"Hello…," he hesitantly enters the room. "I'm Stan Holder from C-6. I'm here for Lindsay O'Malley…"

"Yes, come in, please." Determined to get this over with, Maura emerges from behind her desk, and with the reserved politeness of two people wishing to be somewhere else, they briefly shake hands.

"You've already identified her?" Holder asks, years of stressful police work having left their marks on his face.

"I'm afraid so," Maura nods. "We ran her fingerprints and checked her personnel file—"

"She in there?" The sergeant points at the morgue slab with the dead woman's body hidden under a cloth in the room next door.

"Yes…" Without further words, Maura leads him into the autopsy room, but when they both stand on opposite sides of Lindsay O'Malley's body, she pauses before lifting the cloth. "She doesn't look the way you knew her…"

His lips compressed to a thin and bloodless line, Holder signals her to remove the cloth.

And so Maura does.

At the sight of his former colleague's lifeless face, the sergeant swallows hard, clenches his fists.

"I'm sorry…," Maura murmurs.

Brows furrowed with anger, Holder lets his eyes wander from the now cleaned gunshot wound on O'Malley's head to the two holes in her shoulders. "She got shot three times?"

"Five times, actually," the medical examiner corrects him. "There are two more in her kneecaps."

"Damn it!" Holder's emotions suddenly burst free as he averts his face and furiously kicks against the other morgue slab's leg.

It is not the first time that Maura witnesses the violent nature of someone's mourning, and it certainly won't be the last. Patiently, she waits until the sergeant turns back around, his fingers clutching the bare metal that serves as O'Malley's temporary resting place. "She was found in an alley near Dorchester Avenue. They must have left her there at least four days ago."

Taking a deep breath, Holder studies the cold, battered body of his deceased team member and softly caresses her naked shoulder.

"Why did no one report her missing?" Maura wonders quietly. "We checked local reports as well as NCIC…"

"She was working undercover," he explains without taking his eyes off of Lindsay O'Malley. "It wasn't unusual that we wouldn't hear from her for one or two days. When we hadn't heard from her for almost five days, we knew something was wrong, but we didn't want to blow her cover too soon…"

"What was she working on?" Hoping to divert the sergeant's attention from the dead woman lying between them, Maura tries to keep him talking. "If you don't mind me asking…"

"She was keeping an eye on the mob in Southie." Even though Holder is gradually calming down, he still doesn't look up. "The situation there is pretty fucked up these days… with several families trying to rise to the top and take over. Ever since Paddy Doyle got busted, the scene has been pretty chaotic. I mean, he was a pain in the ass when he was still ruling the docks, but now that he's gone, he left an even greater mess behind."

At the mention of the man who has haunted her for the last few years, and at the thought of all the implications, Maura lets her eyes wander over O'Malley's lifeless features while absentmindedly fidgeting with a corner of the cloth in her hands.

When Holder notices her silence, he suddenly stiffens and finally looks up. "Oh, I'm sorry… I… I forgot… I didn't want to imply anything… It's not your fault."

But even though Maura acknowledges his apology with a faint nod, his words don't really reach her mind. Too often has she heard them before. Too often has she yearned to be able to simply believe them. But too often have her thoughts been hijacked by that voice crying out in the back of her head, reminding her of her origin, of the blame she inherited, of the consanguinity that will forever tie her to the mob. Guilty by default.

"You still in touch with him?" Holder's voice rips her from her thoughts.

"No, not really," Maura shakes her head. "I haven't talked to him since the trial."

For a moment, they both stand in silence, contemplating the entanglement of the mob and their lives.

"Detective Randall is handling this case," Maura finally says. "I will give you his number, so you can discuss how to proceed."

The sergeant nods, resolutely at first, but then his eyes land on Lindsay O'Malley's disfigured face, and once again, realization sets in. He slouches his shoulders in defeat. "What am I gonna tell her family?"

"She has family?" Maura's heart breaks a little more for the dead woman on her table.

"Yeah… husband, two kids…" Holder tiredly rubs his eyes. "I can't give 'em the usual shit… that she died in the line of duty… serving her community and her country and all… That stuff gets old once you've droned it out a few times. And those who remain behind don't give a fuck about this country. They just want their loved ones back."

And despite her aversion to this type of conversation, Maura feels an intuitive connection to the sergeant. Because she knows his dilemma. Because she is confronted with the very same question every time Jane rushes into danger. And even though she doesn't like the answer, it is the only one that makes sense. To herself, and to Jane, and maybe to Lindsay O'Malley as well. "Did she like her job?"

"Yeah, loved it," Holder confirms, admiration flashing over his face. "And she was really good at it… Was on her way up the ladder but still managed to spend enough time with her family. She had it all."

"Then maybe you should tell them that," Maura suggests. "That she died doing what she loved… Hopefully, one day they'll understand…"

The sergeant considers it, probably knows she is right, but then hangs his head in despair. "It's just not fair…"

"No, it is not," Maura agrees quietly, allowing him a moment of grief.

"Do you think—" Holder hesitates as if debating the appropriateness of the question. "Do you believe in life after death?"

Caught off guard, Maura raises her eyebrows in search for an answer. She is familiar with all the research in the field, but science is rarely able to comfort a mourning soul.

"I mean, all those people end up on your table," Holder sighs, sadness filling his voice. "They've been shot or stabbed or beaten to death. And there's nothing you or any of us can do for them anymore." He casts one last heavy glance at O'Malley. "You think they get another chance? In another life somewhere…?"

Still pondering her response, Maura lets her eyes roam over the dead woman's features. "I'd like to believe they do," she finally says and pulls the cloth back over Lindsay O'Malley's face.

As if to say goodbye, Holder gently squeezes his friend's lifeless arm under the cloth, then regains his composure. "I'm sorry… I'm just having a really bad day… a bad week actually…"

"There is no need to apologize," Maura objects with a sympathetic smile.

"Well, I should go," the sergeant decides, reluctantly turns away, and trudges out of the autopsy room.

"Let me give you Detective Randall's card," Maura reminds him as she follows him back into her office. She flips through several business cards in a small plastic box on her desk, then hands one of them to Holder.

He slides it into his jacket's pocket and politely shakes her hand. "Well… I hope next time we meet, it'll be under different circumstances…"

"Me too," Maura nods and watches him leave, his shoulders sagging under the burden of Lindsay O'Malley's death.

Exhausted but filled with an odd sense of relief, Maura sinks down on her office couch and leans back, the sergeant's words still echoing through her mind. About all those victims on her table… shot and stabbed and beaten to death… and nothing she could do… She tries to recall how many autopsies she has performed over the years, but by now, the number has gotten simply too high. She used to keep track and categorize all the details of the victims' demise — homicide or suicide, gunshot wound or strangulation, poison or brutal assault —, but when those numbers crossed the threshold between interesting stats and frightening facts about human nature, she decided to only store them on her computer and not in her mind.

But on days like this, she inevitably wonders. What if she had followed a different path in life, taken more courses in psychiatry, chosen a profession in another field? What if she could have prevented these victims' murders instead of just reconstructing their deaths? She always wanted her life to have meaning, but what if she should have searched for that meaning somewhere else?

While her mind is still reaching for answers, her eyes spot the box with the two muffins sitting on the table — organic tofu and chunky chocolate vying for her attention. Hoping for the chocolate's tryptophan to boost her serotonin levels and thereby stimulate the secretion of endorphins in her brain, Maura ignores the lighter muffin and decisively picks the darker one. A choice based purely on scientific facts.

But as soon as the sweet chocolate begins to melt on her tongue, reminding her of the taste of Jane's often chocolaty lips, she realizes that a different path in life might have never led her to BPD and to Jane. And so many outcomes might have changed. Maybe Hoyt and his apprentices would still be running free. Maybe Jane would have died during the siege. And maybe all of the killers they caught would have gotten away.

And as bite after bite of the muffin disappears in her mouth, she concludes that maybe she did save some people's lives. Maybe she did make the right choices. And maybe those darn delicious chocolate muffins aren't so bad after all.

Finally overcoming her early afternoon low, Maura heaves herself up from her couch and returns to her desk. With only a few hours left until Jane's arrival at Logan, she needs to get started with her paperwork of the day.

Without further distractions, she picks the first case file from the pile next to her computer and diligently handles the rather bureaucratic aspects of her job — releasing bodies to funeral homes, signing off autopsy reports, preparing court testimonials.

And the cases are as diverse as the victims landing on her morgue slabs. The thinnest case file details the routine examination of a 37-year-old male suicide victim to rule out any foul play. The thickest case file documents the autopsy of a 42-year-old woman who died during abdominal surgery, and whose wealthy family requested an investigation in hopes to find someone to blame — but in vain. And the saddest case file is filled with crime scene photos of a 19-year-old innocent kid who was struck down by a bullet in a gang-related drive-by shooting. Wrong time, wrong place. That's the way the story goes.

…

Three hours later, Maura prints out the final report for the last case of the day, tiredly rubs her eyes, and leans back. Once the printer is done rattling out the pages, she staples them to the other sheets in the case file, shuts down her computer, and heads for the elevator even though she isn't required to deliver the report herself. But although Jane's plane should have landed by now, her phone has been silent all afternoon. And some part of her wonders whether the brunette might already be upstairs. Maybe another detective saw her come in and dragged her into the homicide squad room for an urgent case…

But her hopes are dashed as soon as she spots Jane's empty desk, and thus, she simply hands in her file and strolls back downstairs. Nervously, she glances at her cell phone again. Still no message from Jane.

Familiar worries creeping up her spine, she reaches her office and absentmindedly passes her couch and her desk — but then stops dead in her tracks when she notices a small self-made paper box from the corner of her eyes. She squints at the object barely the size of a jewelry box waiting on her desk, then curiously looks around. But the autopsy room next door and the hallway are empty.

After another moment of hesitation, Maura carefully picks up the box, removes the tiny gift ribbon keeping it together, and opens it — only to find two meticulously folded pieces of paper in there, each of them held together by thin strips of gift wrap. All her senses tingling in anticipation, she unfolds the first note and is once again greeted by Jane's handwriting.

_Small change of plans tonight. I won't pick you up but you'll have to come and meet me.  
Now I could probably just tell you the location, but where's the fun in that, right?  
So, let's hope that smart brain of yours can figure it out… because I'm waiting…  
__Love ya,  
__Jane  
__P.S.: Don't you dare use Google!_

Intrigued, Maura unfolds the second piece of paper, finds another message.

_Clue #1: G67  
You'll get your next clue from the newsstand next to a famous building in this town. (Tell the guy I sent you.) It's the only building in Boston that's on the American Institute of Architects' list with the "10 Most Significant Buildings in the U.S." Some dude got famous for its Richardsonian Romanesque style. And I don't think the building's owners would approve of us doing certain things in your bedroom last Sunday instead of sitting around in that building._

Even though the memory of said bedroom activities temporarily distracts Maura's brain, it doesn't take her long to figure out the location of the building in question. Smiling to herself and eager to play whatever game Jane has decided to play, she grabs her purse and the little paper box with its clues, turns off the lights and locks her office, then hurries to the elevator.

Unnoticed by the medical examiner, Susie watches from around the corner, a satisfied grin filling her face. As soon as Maura has disappeared in the elevator, the young criminalist whips out her cell phone and sends off a quick text.

_She's on her way…_

…


	3. Chapter 3

_**(PART III)**_

...

Five minutes later, Maura reaches her car parked outside of BPD, drops her belongings onto the passenger seat, and walks over to the driver's side, keys and wallet in hand.

Just as she is about to get in, three young girls in school uniform come bouncing down the sidewalk, engaged in a lively discussion while repeatedly glancing at their smart phones, giggling and bringing all the teenage girl clichés to life.

Moments later, a fourth girl with freckles and careless hair bursts through the doors of BPD, stumbles down the steps to the sidewalk, tries to catch up with the other girls. "Hey, wait for me!"

But before Freckles gets even closer to her classmates, she bumps into another pedestrian, and several books tumble out of her backpack. Hastily, she kneels down and gathers her items just as the other three girls turn around, gloating at the sight of their struggling follower. After conspicuously whispering to one another, they run off and disappear around the next corner, while Maura is still watching from afar.

When Freckles looks up, the other girls are gone, and she remains behind all by herself. With slouching shoulders and the corners of her mouth sagging south, she picks one of her books and flips through its pages as she strolls down the sidewalk alone.

But just as she turns another page, two boys emerge from the opposite direction, chasing each other, running towards the girl. And inevitably, one of them bumps into her, makes her drop her stuff all over again, and angrily flails his arms around. "Geez, stupid dweeb! Watch where you're going!"

Without waiting for a response, the two boys run off, leaving Freckles behind with her belongings scattered all over the sidewalk again.

Momentarily ignoring her original plans, Maura approaches the girl and helps her gather all of her books and papers, and notices her sniff away a tear. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," Freckles confirms quietly. Rather unconvincingly.

Wondering what Jane would do, Maura tries to engage her involuntary companion. "Are you part of that school excursion to Boston Police today?"

Freckles nods, shyly wipes away another tear, and stuffs her books into her backpack.

"So?" Maura tries again. "How did you like it?"

But Freckles just shrugs, grabs her backpack, and trudges away.

"Wait," Maura holds her back, then picks up another sheet of paper from the ground but refuses to hand it over right away. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"

"Why? Are you a shrink or something?" Demandingly, Freckles stretches out her hand and requests her paper.

Reluctantly, Maura releases the crinkled sheet. "No, I'm not. I'm the Chief Medical Examiner of the Comm—"

"You dissect people?" Suddenly, Freckles is all ears.

"Well, that is part of my work, yes," Maura confirms, unsure how to react to the girl's sudden enthusiasm.

"And you cut them open and take out all of their organs?" Her eyes sparkling with curiosity, the girl drops her backpack onto a bench next to them.

"Yes, that is part of a standard autopsy," Maura nods and sits down on the bench so she is at eye level with her young interrogator.

"You know, you can tell from dead people's stomach contents when they died," Freckles explains keenly.

"That is correct," Maura smiles with approval. "How do you know?"

"I'm—" But suddenly, the girl hesitates and her smile fades away. "I guess I must have read it somewhere… I read a lot…"

"Yes, you have a lot of books…" Maura points at her backpack, oblivious to the change in her mood. "That's good!"

"No, it's not," Freckles murmurs but then pulls her books closer as if to apologize to them for her verbal betrayal.

And Maura frowns in confusion. "Why not?"

"Girls my age aren't supposed to read that much, I guess," Freckles sighs.

"Says who?"

"Everybody… like Nicki and Ashley and Kaylee…"

"Are those the three girls who left just a minute before you?"

Freckles nods.

"But why do you listen to them? They don't seem to be very smart." Maura supportively nudges the young girl's arm. "They should be listening to you."

"They don't listen to me." Ignoring the medical examiner by her side, Freckles stuffs that last sheet of paper into her backpack. "Nobody does."

Feeling oddly familiar with the young girl's sorrows, Maura searches for words of encouragement, wondering what she should say. That things would magically get better? That the ugly duckling would turn into the beautiful swan? And that the nerdy outcast would one day become queen? But she knows that those are empty promises, and that the only royal title she has ever received is Queen of the Dead. And there are no fairytale books in the girl's backpack either. They both already know that reality doesn't abound with cheesy happy endings. But maybe that doesn't really matter. Maybe it really isn't about being heard but just about finding someone who is willing to listen. Even if it is a bad-tempered Boston-Italian detective or just a stranger on a bench. Patiently, Maura waits until the young girl is done organizing her backpack. "Well…, I am listening to you right now, aren't I?"

"I guess…," Freckles admits hesitantly.

"And you will meet many more people who are interested in what a smart girl like you has to say."

"Really?"

"Yes," Maura smiles. "How do you think I got my job?"

Still not convinced, Freckles shrugs. "Good connections?"

"No, it took a little more than that," Maura chuckles. "And if you would like to dissect people some day, I suggest you keep your nose in your books and ignore what people like Nicki and Ashley and Kaylee say."

"But everybody likes them," Freckles protests. "And they always get invited to everything. I don't…"

And this time, Maura instantly knows what to say. "How about I invite you to your very own special tour of my morgue and our crime lab? And we don't invite anybody else. Only you."

Freckles looks up, and hope flashes over her face. "Can we analyze substances with your gas chromatograph?"

"I think that could be arranged," Maura nods.

"And can I watch you do an autopsy?"

"Maybe…" Maura points at Freckles' backpack. "But only if you promise to keep reading your books."

"Promise!" Freckles declares joyfully.

"Would you like to tell me your name?"

"Lucia."

Maura pulls one of her business cards out of her wallet and hands it to the girl. "I'm Maura, and when you're ready for your special tour, you just give me a call, okay?"

Freckles — or rather Lucia — takes the card and grins in anticipation. "Okay."

And even though the girl's mood is already changing for the better, Maura reaches for her hand to reaffirm her promise. Or maybe she just needs to hear these words herself. "You're not alone, Lucia. You understand?"

Lucia nods again, her freckles dancing on her cheeks as a bright smile spreads across her face.

"Good," Maura sighs contentedly, then looks around. "Is there a school bus to take you home?"

"No, I live just a few blocks away," Lucia says and slings her backpack over her shoulder.

"Okay, but watch where you're going," Maura warns as the girl fishes one of her books out of her backpack to read on her walk home. "I will see you soon then?"

"Yes!" Lucia confirms happily. "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," Maura smiles as the girl strolls away, her steps gradually becoming lighter until she bounces out of sight.

And for a few moments, Maura remains seated on that bench, lets the warm summer sun tickle her skin, pensively watches the hustle and bustle around BPD. But then she remembers her original mission still waiting on her car's passenger seat — the small paper box with the first of several clues that are supposed to lead her to Jane. Eager to solve that puzzle, she hurries to her Prius.

…

After a surprisingly quick ride through the afternoon rush-hour traffic, Maura arrives at Copley Square, conveniently parks her car right at the curb thanks to the CME sticker on her windshield, and marches towards the building where she is expected to ask for her second clue.

Mingling with all the Bostonians and tourists relaxing in the shadows cast by Trinity Church and Hancock Tower, Maura slowly makes her way to the church complex with its clay roof, rough stones, and heavy arches. And finally, she spots the comparatively tiny newsstand to the left of the building's main entrance.

Patiently waiting for an elderly woman to buy her Globe and scuffle away, Maura glances at the first clue in her hand, then hesitantly approaches the newsstand's owner. "Hello, I'm… I've been sent here by Detective Jane Rizzoli. I'd like to—"

"You the doc?" Unable to hide his heavy Boston accent, the middle-aged guy with weather-beaten skin grins through a gap in his teeth.

"Yes, I'm Dr. Isles," Maura confirms.

After curiously checking her out from head to toe, he reveals another small paper box from below his counter, and hands it to her. "She wants me to tell ya to hurry up… because, ya know, she's not exactly patient…"

"I'm aware of that," Maura nods with amusement. "How do you know her?"

"Eh, we go back a while," the guy explains while arranging some loose magazines into a neatly aligned stack. "After some fuckin' punks wrecked my old stand in Roxbury, she helped me set up shop here… Wouldn't have gotten back on my feet without her…" Noticing the proud sparkle in Maura's eyes, he points his thumb at her. "What 'bout you? I've never heard her talk 'bout nobody the way she talked 'bout you…"

Her heart beating a little faster, Maura shifts on her feet. "I'm… We're working together…"

"That's what ya call it these days?" His grin grows even wider.

Trying to avoid a serious case of urticaria, Maura holds up the little paper box. "I should get going. I don't want to make her wait."

"Yeah, you have fun, alright?" The guy waves her goodbye, waits until she is back at her car, then grabs the cell phone lying next to his cash register and sends off his message to a certain detective.

Meanwhile, Maura plops down into the driver's seat of her Prius and opens the newly received paper box. It contains another wrapped piece of paper, which she quickly unfolds to read its message.

_Knew you'd figure that one out. And here's your second clue: #28.  
You'll find the third clue at 210 smoots. I don't need to say more, do I?  
Still love ya, but only if you hurry up!  
Jane_

And Maura does indeed not need any further hints regarding her next destination. Smiling fondly at the memories the clue brings back, she starts her car and merges with the traffic towards the Charles.

Several traffic lights later, she reaches the Back Bay ramp to the Harvard Bridge and follows a long line of vehicles to Cambridge on the other side of the river. When her Prius passes the spot where she is supposed to pick up her clue but there is not the slightest chance for a spontaneous stop in the middle of the street, she sighs to herself and silently curses all the cars in front, beginning to understand what impatience must feel like to Jane.

Nervously tapping her fingers on the wheel, she takes a deep breath and forces her thoughts into more pleasant directions… back to the day a few weeks ago when she and Jane crossed the bridge during one of their runs… when they slowed down half-way across the river to take in the scenic view… and Jane frowned in confusion at those mysterious marks on the sidewalk… and she couldn't resist to enlighten the detective… and tell her about that MIT fraternity prank from 1958 when the shortest frat member named Oliver Smoot was used like a yardstick to measure the length of the bridge… and how she was still explaining the origin of those smoot marks when Jane suddenly pushed her against the railing and kissed her right at the 210-smoot mark… bringing her lecture on the bridge's history to a sudden but not unwelcome end.

While her thoughts are still circling around their intimate encounter on the Harvard Bridge, Maura finally reaches Cambridge on the other side of the river, parks her Prius in the next best spot, and strides back towards the 210-smoot mark on the eastern sidewalk of the bridge, paying no attention to the traffic nor to the man in shabby clothes leaning inconspicuously against the railing across the street.

When she arrives at the mark after approximately one third of the bridge, she pauses in confusion, wonders where to look for her next clue. Maybe it is taped to the bridge's railing? Eagerly, she lets her fingers slide over the metal — but finds nothing.

Just as she is about to give up, a familiar male voice suddenly hollers cheerfully from behind. "Doctor Vanilla!"

Startled, she turns around and finds Rondo prancing towards her from the other side of the street, grinning like a Cheshire cat, a lollipop clenched between his teeth. She smiles in surprise but fails to withdraw in time to escape his boisterous hug.

Eventually, he lets her go and smirks. "You lookin' for somethin'?"

"I… I am," Maura stutters, still a little overwhelmed. "I suppose it's you I'm looking for?"

"Oh, I wish," Rondo hums in delight but then reaches into his shabby jacket's inside pocket to reveal another tiny paper box. With a chivalrous bow, he offers it to Maura. "But you're lookin' for this!"

Amused, Maura accepts the box from his palm, unsure whether she should open it right away.

When Rondo notices her hesitation, he nudges her elbow with a wink and a smile, almost bursting with the desire to reveal a big secret. "Detective Vanilla has some nice plans for you tonight…"

"What kind of plans?" Maura's interest is definitely piqued.

But Jane's confidential informant just shrugs. "I'm not allowed to say, but you should get that fine ass of yours movin'…"

"But what about you?" Maura invitingly holds up her car keys. "Do you need a ride? I can—"

"Oh, no, no," Rondo instantly waves away the suggestion. "Don't worry about good ol' Rondo. I'll be fiiine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, suuure," he grins. "Now go 'n get yourself some sweet luvin'!" Without allowing any protest, he shoos Maura towards the Cambridge side of the Charles. When she still hesitates after a few steps and turns back around, he sends her a semi-serious warning glare until she finally hurries away.

Once back inside her Prius, Maura unfolds her next clue, wondering how many more of those she will have to find.

_I hope Rondo didn't get too touchy-feely there… Anyway, your third clue is: Road.  
You know how you always force me to watch those stupid documentaries and then complain when I don't remember every fricking detail? Let's see if you can do better.  
Two weeks ago, we watched Good Will Hunting, and for some reason, I have a hunch that you don't remember much about it because… well, you know why. Thing is, if you want to find your last clue, you'd better remember where the character of Sean Maguire was working. And no Google, sweetie! You know I'll find out…  
When you're at that location, look for the kid in the blue sweater.  
And if you can't remember, all you have to do is gimme a call and promise you'll never nag me about your documentaries again. I think that's a fair deal…  
So… I'm waiting…  
Oh, and I love ya.  
__Jane_

Scrunching her nose, Maura skims Jane's message again but realizes that _this one_ is beyond her knowledge — if only she had paid more attention to that movie instead of spending the better part of those two hours kissing Jane's arms and her neck and her lips…

Unwilling to surrender this easily, Maura contemplates her options. Maybe she could ask Rondo for help… or figure out Jane's location without that last clue… or just—

But suddenly, when her eyes fly over Jane's instructions again, she knows exactly how to solve her dilemma without breaking the rules or causing a betraying urticaria attack. A victorious smile spreads over her face as she reaches for her phone and lets her fingers slide over its display.

…

Fourteen minutes later, Maura arrives at her next destination and parks her Prius right in front of the main building of Bunker Hill Community College in Charlestown. And even though she enjoys all those little challenges for her brain, the yearning of her heart for the creator of this game is getting harder to ignore.

Luckily, it doesn't take her too long until she spots a kid in a blue sweater, who is impatiently tapping his foot against a balustrade and checking his watch.

As soon as he notices her, the teenager gets up and nods casually. "Yo, Doc. Got somethin' for ya." He reaches into his pocket, then smoothly tosses another paper box into her hands.

"You're Jarrod, right?" Maura asks as she recognizes him from Jane's neighborhood.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles and grabs a skateboard next to him. "But I'm in a hurry.. Gotta bounce. See ya!" Without waiting for a response, he hops onto his board and whooshes away.

Reminding herself to watch _Good Will Hunting_ again, Maura casts one last glance at the college building before rushing back to her car while already unwrapping the paper box on her way. When she reaches her Prius, she leans against the door and reads her newest clue.

_You're so close… Last clue: It's a document that we, the people, consider pretty important…  
Now, put all clues together and you'll know where to find me.  
And did I mention you'd better hurry? I'm probably starving by now…  
But I still love ya.  
__Jane_

Starving herself and eager to finally solve the puzzle, Maura gets into her car and gathers the other clues from her passenger seat. She snatches a pen from the glove compartment and scribbles all hints onto the back of the last piece of paper, effortlessly figuring out the last clue in the process.

_G67 #28 ROAD CONSTITUTION_

As soon as the clues' secret message is revealed, she reaches for her cell phone, quickly enters her destination into its GPS app, then starts the car and speeds off.

…

And finally, when it's almost 7 p.m. and the sun is already beginning its descent, Maura arrives at #28 Constitution Road, not too far away from Bunker Hill Community College, and parks her Prius in a spacious lot right next to the Constitution Marina. Filled with desire not just for food, she snatches her purse, her keys, and the piece of paper with all of her clues before locking her car and curiously approaching the private harbor.

Not quite sure yet where her last clue might lead her, she heads straight for the main entrance to search for a map of the premises. Trying to ignore the enticing wafts of grilled chicken and roasted steak from a cheerful group of boat owners gathered for a barbecue on the registration office's deck, Maura scans her surroundings until she spots a detailed plan with the numbering scheme for several dozens of single boat slips. When she finds the one marked with a bold G67, she memorizes its location and hurries to the main pier, passes numerous yachts and smaller boats tied to the wooden pilings that hold them in place, then struts down a narrower landing stage at the far end of the marina. Nervously checking her watch, she waits for an elderly couple to heave an oversized cooling box off of their boat, eventually manages to scrape by, and finally smiles in anticipation when slip #G67 comes into sight.

Switching into a casual stroll as she approaches the Mandarin 52 awaiting her, Maura marvels at the yacht's 52-foot-long pearly-white hull, its 56-foot-tall mast with currently furled-up sails, and its streamlined pilothouse — until her eyes land on a very familiar detective slouching in a camping chair on the fore deck, dressed in a softball shirt and washed-out shorts with her hair tied back under a baseball cap, cool drink in hand and clearly enjoying the evening sun.

When the unmistakable clacking of Maura's heels stops right next to the yacht, Jane casually looks over and smirks. "What took you so long?"

"Traffic…," Maura smiles back, waiting to be let on board.

But Jane seems determined to tease her a little longer, takes all the time in the world to get up, and plods to the starboard side of the boat. "It was the third clue, wasn't it? That movie tripped you up!"

"No, not really," Maura denies utterly unimpressed. "That one was rather easy."

And Jane frowns. Clearly, this isn't the answer she expected. Warily, she squints down at her visitor from her vantage point on deck. "You _did_ use Google, didn't you?!"

"I did not," Maura objects confidently.

"But you can't possibly remember that…" Confusion about the unexpected failure of her plan fills the detective's face. "How did you figure it out?"

And if it wasn't for the emptiness in her stomach, Maura would probably keep her in suspense a little longer. "Well, there are other search engines besides Google…"

"You cheated!"

"I did not cheat," Maura protests and ignores Jane's admonishing stare. "You instructed me not to use Google, and I did not."

Obviously annoyed about missing her chance to get rid of those darn documentaries, Jane rolls her eyes. "You know damn well what I meant."

And as the brunette is still muttering to herself while unhinging a small gate between the life rails, all Maura can do is try her best to keep a victorious smile from spreading over her face. "Just be more precise with your instructions next time."

"Who said there was going to be a next time?" Jane grumbles with feigned irritation.

When the gate and a four-step ladder are finally in position, Maura steps closer, expecting to be helped on board.

"Uh uh!" Jane instantly holds up her hand like a stop sign. "You need to pass the final threshold."

"And how do I do that?" Even though the prospect of another challenge piques Maura's interest, a certain frustration about being kept away from her goal makes itself felt.

"It's simple," Jane smirks. "You just need to answer one final question."

"I'm listening…"

And now it is Jane who is brimming with confidence of her victory. "Which of the muffins was better?"

With a spontaneous laugh, Maura averts her eyes. Those dreaded muffins again…

"Weeell…?"

Realizing that there is no other way, Maura grudgingly surrenders. "Your chocolate muffin, okay?"

Visibly pleased, Jane waits and peeks at Maura's skin just above the neckline of her dress, eyebrows raised, waiting for any signs of hives. There are none. "Aaand we have a winner!"

Maura chuckles, reaches for Jane's outstretched hand, and finally joins her on the yacht.

"Welcome aboard!" the brunette grins.

As soon as Jane has pulled up the ladder and secured the gate again, Maura doesn't waste any more time and locks her into her arms.

"Well, hello there," Jane welcomes her advance. "How was your day?"

"Long…" Maura snatches the baseball cap off of her head. "Would you like some precise instructions for your next moves?"

"Nah, I'm good." Without hesitation, Jane proves that there is no need for further instructions.

And as Maura finally feels her partner's lips on her own, after four long days of separation, gentle kisses soon turn into a passionate reunion of their tongues, leaving them both out of breath and wrapping them in a warm sense of being back home.

But eventually, curiosity wins over Maura's other needs, and she pulls back, lets her eyes wander over their surroundings. "So, why are we on a boat? And whose boat is it?"

"Belongs to one of Korsak's sailing buddies," Jane murmurs while leaving a trail of kisses down the blonde's neck. "We have it all weekend…"

"To do… what… exactly?" Maura tries to focus as Jane's lips travel over her shoulder.

"Things…"

"We do _things_ all the time at home…"

"Slightly different things…"

"Like what?"

With a quiet sigh, Jane places one last kiss on Maura's shoulder. "Well, Miss I'm-Always-So-Patient, why don't you take a look around first?" Without allowing any protest, she grabs the blonde's hand and leads her to the boat's stern and to a U-shaped seating area right behind the pilothouse entrance.

"First stop on our tour: the seating area. Ta-dah!" Jane grandiloquently waves her hand at the cushioned seats. "Coming up next: the interior." She climbs over the seats and turns to the pilothouse — where her tall figure and the low door frame collide with a loud thud. "SONOFA—!"

"Are you alright?" Maura worriedly follows her into the pilothouse.

"Yeah, yeah," Jane mumbles and more carefully descends the wooden circular stairs into the belly of the boat. "Happened only for the fifth time. I'm sure there are some unbruised spots left on my forehead."

While Jane is still rubbing her head, Maura curiously inspects the boat's interior — its surprisingly spacious lounge right at the bottom of the stairs, its 10-foot-long galley equipped even with stove, oven, and fridge, as well as its two cabins at opposite ends.

"The stateroom over there also has a shower," Jane says and points at the cabin in the back of the yacht. "And I brought some of your clothes, too…"

Impressed but insufficiently informed, Maura leans close to the brunette. "I still don't know why we're here…"

"Good! For once, I know something you don't!" Immune to the blonde's tactics, Jane pecks her on the cheek. "Just go and freshen up or take a nap or whatever. I need to prepare a few things."

"Fine…," Maura concedes with a pout and pads to the stateroom, where she finds some of her clothes neatly folded right next to a bag with Jane's tangled T-shirts and pants on the queen-size bed. Deciding that the detective's refusal to provide more clues certainly warrants some visual protest, she steals one of her grey BPD shirts and a pair of her own yoga pants, then sneaks into the master head adjacent to the bedroom.

…

A little while later, Maura returns to the bedroom, sporting Jane's shirt and her own pants, with her hair still a little damp and a relaxed smile gracing her face. Wondering whether she is expected to wait for a formal invitation, she paces the narrow aisle next to the bed, but when the alluring scent of warm dinner being prepared tingles her nose, she abandons her patience and peeks through the door. However, the galley is unattended, and except for some crumpled-up paper and aluminum foil, there are no signs of any gastronomic activities.

Following the instincts of her grumbling stomach, Maura climbs up the wooden stairs to the pilothouse, where she finds the small table next to a cushioned corner booth filled with two covered plates of food, two wine glasses, and two more of those ridiculously delicious chocolate muffins. She shakes her head in amusement before turning her attention to Jane, who is battling an apparently insubordinate cork of a bottle of wine.

When the cork finally surrenders to the combined forces of a tiny corkscrew and a rather thirsty Jane, she clenches her fist in triumph but then notices Maura — and the shirt she is wearing. "Uh, don't expect me to wear _your_ clothes while you're wearing _mine_."

Briefly considering the thought but discarding it in order not to burst into laughter, Maura instead hands one of the wine glasses to Jane.

Secretively concealing the bottle's label, Jane pours her some white wine. "Now, hopefully all those endless wine tasting sessions weren't in vain…"

Accepting the half-filled glass and the challenge, Maura sips the saturated golden liquid and playfully lets it linger in her mouth until Jane's expectantly arched eyebrows can't possibly rise any further. "White wine. It's definitely white wine."

"You don't say?!" Jane growls. "Come on, I'm serious. Impress me."

After getting her glass refilled, Maura tastes the wine again.

"And…?" Jane's patience is vanishing as quickly as the contents of the bottle.

Pursing her lips, Maura holds out her glass for another sample.

But suddenly, Jane frowns in suspicion and withholds the bottle. "Wait, are you just trying to get more wine?!"

"Nooo," Maura denies though the twitching corners of her mouth say otherwise.

"Okay, no more wine for you until you've figured it out!" Resolutely, Jane hides the bottle behind her back.

Without taking another sip, Maura gives up her charade. "It's a Chardonnay… I'm going to say France… a Chablis Grand Cru maybe?"

Trying to keep a straight face, Jane glances at the bottle's label. "And which vintage?"

"I can't possibly know that!"

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking every single time when you spout some of your fun facts!"

When Jane still refuses to hand over the bottle, Maura bites her lip in hesitation. "Well… 2010?"

"Oh my God, did you just guess?!" Jane feigns a face of horror.

"Just let me see!" Maura insistently clutches at the bottle.

"No, no!" Jane stumbles backward, out of the pilothouse, to escape Maura's reach. "You didn't earn it!"

Rolling her eyes at the pointless prolonging of the inevitable, Maura determinedly steps closer.

"Hey, I said _no_," Jane complains and retreats further until her calves bump against the seating area, leaving her without a chance to escape.

And it takes just one more step forward from Maura for Jane to tumble backward and to plop down on the cushions, the bottle of wine still firmly grasped in her hand.

"You're not playing fair," she whines as Maura climbs on top of her.

"Neither do you."

But any further debate on the fairness of their play is postponed when both involved parties unanimously agree on a tie, sealing their temporary truce with another fervent kiss.

As their lips finally part, Jane meekly holds up the bottle of Chablis. "Want some wine?"

"If you insist…," Maura smirks victoriously, takes the bottle, and pours herself another glass. And a quick glance at the label of the 2007 Joseph Drouhin Chablis Grand Cru confirms how close she was. Noting with delight that Jane apparently didn't just pick the next best bottle off the supermarket shelf, she savors the rich fruity wine, then teasingly looks at the brunette still trapped under her legs. "Now, about my other question…"

"What other question?" Jane pipes up innocently.

"What are we doing on this boat?" Maura reminds her and puts down her empty glass.

Playfully running her fingers up and down the blonde's thighs, Jane shrugs and nods towards the plates still hidden under aluminum foil. "How about we eat first, and then I tell you?"

"How about you tell me now?" Despite her hungry stomach seriously considering her other organs as a provisional snack, Maura enjoys their back-and-forth too much to give in. "And the sooner you do that, the sooner we can eat."

"I guess we'll be starving to death then…" Jane challengingly continues her caresses.

"I don't think so," Maura purrs as she leans closer, pins Jane's hands to the cushions under her head, and begins to breathe gentle kisses onto her neck, up to her ear, all the way to that one sensitive spot that she has leveraged so often before to get her will. Sometimes, it's almost too easy. "So, what about this boat?" Questioningly, she hovers above Jane, their faces only inches apart.

"Well…," the brunette murmurs, her resistance melting away. "I've been thinking about what to get you, but you kinda already have everything. Like, really, _everything_! You even have a book with turtle recipes! Seriously, who in the world has something like _that_?!"

Chuckling into the crook of Jane's neck, Maura resumes her investigative routine. "Get to the point…"

But Jane isn't exactly unaware of the blonde's strategy, and so she just waits a little longer, indulges in her tender touches until they stop again. "The point is, there's one thing you _don't_ have, and that's some nice memories… I mean, given the way you grew up and how most people treated you, it's just—… You just don't have the kind of memories that you _deserve_ to have…"

Sensing the sudden seriousness in her tone, Maura subconsciously entwines her fingers with Jane's.

"So… I know you like the ocean," the brunette continues under her gaze. "And for now, this boat is as close as I could get us, but if you want to, Korsak and his buddy will come here tomorrow and take us out to the sea… And there are a few other things we could do, but I'm not gonna spoil everything… You think you can keep your curiosity under control for a little bit longer?"

"I suppose…," Maura nods, pensively playing with Jane's hands.

"Basically, I just… I guess, instead of some crappy gift from the store, I want to give you some nice memories… you know, some moments that are just about you."

But in response, Maura abruptly turns away, reaches for her glass and the bottle, and pours herself more wine.

Worried that she might have triggered some buried emotions, Jane sits up as well. "What? What is it?"

"Nothing," Maura whispers before gulping down her wine, but her eyes give her away.

"Uh, you're gonna cry, aren't you?" Jane tries to prevent the inevitable.

"No, I won't," Maura promises, though she has lost the battle with her amygdala already.

"Oh yes, you will…," Jane chuckles and nudges her shoulder, all in good fun. "Here it comes, the flood gates are open…"

Trying to compose herself, Maura blinks away a tear. "Well, it's all your fault…"

"Maybe you should hang your head over the rail," Jane suggests with a smirk. "You know, before we get too much water in the boat…"

"Shut up!" Maura laughs while still fighting back her tears. "Or I'll tell Korsak and all of your colleagues what a hopeless romantic you are."

"Don't you dare!" Jane warns indignantly, but when Maura wipes another tear from the corner of her eye, she scoots closer and wraps the blonde into her arms. "So… do you wanna spend the weekend on this boat… with me?"

Sniffing away the last efforts of her lacrimal glands, Maura points at the still covered plates on the table a few feet away. "Depends on what kind of food you have hidden there…"

Enthusiastically, Jane leaps to her feet, barely avoids another collusion with the pilothouse door, and peels off the aluminum foil from one of the plates to reveal a carefully arranged main course of creamy pasta and tender rose salmon.

And it definitely finds Maura's approval. "Is that from Chef Maurice?"

"Yup," the brunette nods and removes the foil from the second plate, which holds a similar arrangement of salmon with rice. "One of his sous-chefs is on stand-by, so whenever you're hungry, we just have to give him a call."

Drawn to the pilothouse for a variety of reasons, Maura joins Jane at the table, waits for her to pour them both some more wine, then softly squeezes her arm. "You didn't have to do all of this…"

"I know… but I wanted to." Jane pulls her closer, confirms it with an affectionate kiss, then raises her wine. "To you."

"To us," Maura smiles as they clink glasses.

…

As the day is slowly nearing its end, the pilothouse is illuminated only by the golden glow of a lamp under deck. And on the table next to the corner booth, empty plates mingle with torn pieces of aluminum foil, an empty bottle of expensive Chablis, and a myriad of muffin crumbs scattered all over the tabletop.

Right outside the pilothouse doors, the darkness of the warm summer night is broken by half a dozen tea lights flickering in different spots in the boat's stern and casting dancing shadows on the faces of the two women snuggled up to each other on the long side of the U-shaped seating area.

Sipping on a glass of white wine from another almost empty bottle, Maura has squeezed herself comfortably between Jane's legs, leaning back against the woman behind her, wrapped into the brunette's arms that hold her tight and prevent her from sliding off the rather narrow seat.

But while Jane has dozed off with her cheeks flushed from her buzz and a content smile playing on her lips, Maura is still wide awake. And as she is pensively staring into the night, neither the twinkling lights of Boston's skyline in the distance nor the sounds of the gentle ocean waves washing against the yacht nor the steady rhythm of Jane's breathing against the skin of her neck really register with her mind. Because everything is perfect. But perfection is fragile and fleeting, and too often it ends with the shot of a gun. At least in her world.

Inevitably, her thoughts return to Lindsay O'Malley, to her cold and lifeless body, to the sense of loss and defeat in her sergeant's eyes, and to the people she leaves behind.

Emboldened by the wine in her veins, Maura puts down her empty glass and sits up, her movement waking Jane from her slumber.

"I don't remember allowing you to get up…," the brunette complains with sleepy eyes as she reaches for her hand and tries to pull her back down.

But Maura leans her shoulder against the back of the seats instead, rests her chin on Jane's cocked leg. "Do you still want to hear about that woman I had on my table today?"

Sensing the somberness in her voice, Jane encloses the blonde's hand in her own. "You mean the cop?"

"How do you know?"

"My CI told me…"

"So, Susie _did_ call you?"

"Nooo…," Jane denies but instantly fesses up when faced with Maura's inquisitive stare. "She sent a text."

"I think I liked her better when she was still afraid of you…" But even though she briefly considers confiscating Susie's phone, Maura knows that her senior criminalist only has her best interests in mind. And she is thankful for that.

"So, what about that woman? Which unit was she from?"

"A senior detective from South Boston…," Maura says but then pauses once more until she feels Jane softly squeezing her hand, encouraging her to talk. "It could have been you…"

"But it wasn't…" Jane soothingly runs her thumb over the back of the blonde's hand.

"She was on undercover assignment, and, as you would say, she got made." Images of the dead woman flash up in Maura's mind again, and she clings tighter to Jane's leg, breathes a kiss onto her knee. "They shot her five times… First in her kneecaps so she couldn't run, then in her shoulders… and then one final bullet in her head."

Her eyes filled with concern, but not for herself, Jane sits up and leans closer to the blonde. "I'm not doing any more UC assignments…"

"I know," Maura nods quietly. "But still… It can happen so fast… And it doesn't even have to be on the job… I mean, the way we lost Detective Frost…"

For a few moments, heavy silence engulfs them as they both stare into the distance, their hearts aching with memories of their friend.

"There is this verse in a poem by Alfred Tennyson," Maura eventually continues. "He writes, 'it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all…' I used to agree with that, but now…" She hesitates, unsure whether to give voice to her doubt. "Sometimes I'm not so sure about it anymore…"

And when Jane pulls her into her arms and softly kisses her cheek, it makes it even harder to ignore how much she could lose.

"Anything I can do?" the brunette whispers into their embrace.

Drawing strength from their nearness, Maura turns to the woman at her side. "Promise you won't get yourself killed?"

"That's the plan," Jane smiles.

"I'm serious."

"So am I. You won't get rid of me any time soon."

"Promise?"

"Promise. Scout's honor." As if to affirm her pledge, Jane leans in for another kiss, warm and affectionate at first, but then turning more playful. "And I agree with that poem…"

"You do?" Curiosity replaces the somberness in Maura's voice.

"Yup…" Teasingly, Jane's lips wander over familiar territory. "I wouldn't wanna miss any of this…" A soft kiss lands on Maura's cheek. "Or this…" Another kiss finds its way close to her ear. "And this…" But when she feels Maura relax in her arms, Jane turns more serious again and locks eyes with the blonde. "And maybe, in the grand scheme of things, we'll only share a few moments… But we'd be pretty stupid not to make the best of them, don't you think?"

Letting Jane's continued caresses convince her of the validity of her argument, Maura gives in to the lure of the moment. "And I suppose you have some ideas for how we could do that?"

"Believe it or not, I do!" Grinning broadly, Jane pecks her on the cheek and springs to her feet. "Be right back!"

Without waiting for a response, she bounces to the pilothouse, gleefully high-fives the door frame when she barely avoids another collusion, then disappears inside, mumbling about the design considerations of shipbuilders.

Remaining behind by herself, with her skin still tingling from the touch of Jane's lips, Maura stifles a yawn, stretches her arms, and gets up as well. She carefully climbs over the seats to the boat's port side, leans against the rail, and quietly admires Boston's skyscrapers standing tall in the dark. And as she deeply inhales the fresh smell of the ocean, a sense of perfection once again fills her heart. And she knows it won't last. But maybe that's not the point… Maybe Jane was right, and the notion of perpetual perfection is flawed… Maybe it's just about moments, and memories, and making the best of the here and now…

Suddenly, the rather imperfect noises of a certain detective stomping under deck followed by a loud thud and an even louder "Oww!" rip Maura from her thoughts. Before she gets a chance to worry and hurry inside, Jane emerges in the door frame, carrying a new bottle of wine and a box of chocolates in one hand while rubbing her head with her other.

"I'm not made for boats," she whines as she hands Maura the chocolates and the wine in exchange for a sympathetic but slightly amused smile. "Could you open that? I need to prepare something else…"

"But try not to go overboard," Maura chuckles as Jane carefully teeters out of sight towards the boat's bow.

A few minutes later, she returns, grabs their two wine glasses and two of the tea lights, blows out the other ones, and signals Maura to follow her.

When they reach the yacht's spacious fore deck, Maura tilts her head in surprise at the sight of a make-shift sleeping spot with blankets and pillows.

"Okay, don't get all watery-eyed again — it's not as cheesy as it looks," Jane warns preemptively and points up at the sky. "It's just that it's August, and there's supposed to be some meteor storm going on up there and—"

"The Perseids…," Maura adds habitually.

"Yes, that one, smarty-pants." Jane puts the tea lights and glasses down. "So, I figured, since we're here anyway, we might as well watch that."

"Like I said: hopeless romantic," Maura teases as the brunette takes the wine and chocolates from her hands.

"No!" Jane protests a little too fast. "But it's still warm outside… And if I try to sleep under deck in that closet of a bedroom, I'd probably wake up all bruised and whacked. So… might as well sleep up here…"

"Well, if it's just a matter of convenience, you surely won't mind if _I_ sleep under deck, will you?" Maura winks victoriously and strolls to the rail to enjoy the view of Boston's skyline a little longer.

"Uh… but…" Pouting her lips, Jane closes the distance between them, steps behind the blonde, alluringly whispers into her ear. "I got wine and chocolates up here…"

Willing to negotiate, Maura turns around and teasingly plays with the fabric of the brunette's shirt. "How about I'll sleep up here if you concede that you're not as bad-ass as you always pretend to be?"

Eyebrow shooting up in disbelief, Jane locks Maura between herself and the rail. "How about I just throw you overboard? The cold water might help you come to your senses…"

"You wouldn't dare…"

"Try me!"

Without warning, Jane sweeps Maura off her feet and lifts her up against the rail but still holds her close in her arms.

"Jane! No!" Instinctively, Maura clings tight to her friendly foe.

"So, shall we discuss our sleeping arrangements again?" Jane grins and pointedly leans towards the water.

"Okay, okay," Maura whimpers playfully. "I'll sleep up here."

"Are you sure?" Thoroughly enjoying her position for various reasons, Jane still doesn't move back. "I mean, it's totally up to you…"

"Yes, I am sure," Maura chuckles helplessly. "Now, let me down!"

Sealing her victory with a smooch on Maura's cheek, Jane finally lets her down and swaggers back to their sleeping spot.

"But you're still a hopeless romantic!"

"What?"

"Nothing…" With her most innocent smile, Maura plops down in her half of the arrangement of pillows and blankets.

Having achieved her goal, Jane makes herself comfortable in the other half of their spot, rips open the box of chocolates, and greedily pops two pieces into her mouth.

After snatching a piece for herself before it's too late, Maura fills both their glasses with wine, takes a long sip and lies down on her back. And much to her approval, Jane eagerly follows her lead and huddles up against her shoulder.

And for a little while, they just enjoy their nearness, eyes facing the starry sky above, while the distant noise of the city and the occasional laughter from a boat in another part of the marina echo through the night.

But the longer they wait, the more often Jane reaches for her wine or another piece of chocolate. And though she lies back down each time, Maura can't help but notice her impatiently twiddling her thumbs. "You do know that the peak of the Perseids shower won't occur for another five days, do you?"

"Uh, yeah, I read that somewhere…," Jane murmurs.

"It might take a while before we get to see some shooting stars…"

"Well, I'm not in a hurry."

"Tell that to your thumbs," Maura chuckles.

Caught in the act, Jane's thumbs instantly halt their restless motion. "It's just because they don't have anything else to play with…"

Taking the hint, Maura wordlessly offers her hand and instantly finds it enclosed in Jane's, lean fingers tickling her palm.

"While we're waiting — why don't you tell me some fun facts about those stars?" Jane peeks at Maura. "Come on, I know you want to."

"Hmm," the blonde hums with delight. "What would you like to know?"

"Nothing too sciency," Jane decides. "Tell me something cool."

Frowning at the request, Maura lets her eyes wander over the night sky until something catches her attention. "Oh, you'll like that one!" She points at a constellation near the North Star. "See those five stars over there? The ones that look like a _W_?"

"Yup." Jane's eyes follow the direction of Maura's finger. "Cassiopeia, right?"

"Yes, very good!" Maura confirms proudly. "However, that name is only used by Western astronomers. The Chinese, for example, have their own constellations, just like they have their own zodiac signs. And some of the stars forming our Cassiopeia lie in an area that the Chinese call the _Black Tortoise_."

"You're just making that up!" Jane chuckles, eyes still looking skyward.

"I am not," Maura objects factually. "It's one of the four symbols in the Chinese constellations."

Trying to keep a straight face, Jane turns to Maura. "So, all those times I found Bass sleepwalking through your house and staring out the windows, he maybe just wanted to admire that big-ass turtle in the sky?"

"Maybe," Maura admits with amusement, keeping to herself that the constellation is indeed referred to as the _Black Turtle_, and that at least this time, Jane's attempt to tease her comes to nothing.

But neither of them really cares, and they both smile to themselves as they turn their eyes back to the sky.

"It is rather fascinating, if you think about it," Maura muses eventually. "The light of these stars takes years to reach Earth. So, when we look up there, we're essentially looking into the past."

Fascination of a different kind written all over Jane's face, she studies the woman at her side, silently admires her features in the glow of the candle lights. "I'm more interested in the future, actually…"

Unaware of Jane's affectionate eyes on her, Maura is still fascinated by the vastness above. "And some of these stars may not even exist anymore… Not the ones you can see with the naked eye, but some of the other ones… They're already gone, and yet, their light still shines on. It's… comforting to know."

And for a few moments, they each cling to that which provides comfort at night.

When Maura realizes that there hasn't been a single quip from Jane, she finally turns her head.

"I love you," Jane whispers as their eyes meet.

Running her thumb over Jane's fingers still linked with her own, Maura hesitates for a heartbeat or two. But she has no doubt. "I love you, too."

And even though the moment is not destined to last, they both make the most of it, lost in each other's eyes and listening to the unison beat of their hearts.

Only when the droning sound of a plane taking off from Logan finally breaks the spell does Jane turn back to the sky, her fingers still tickling Maura's palm and her wrist. "We should keep an eye on those shooting stars, so you can make your wish…"

Maura hums in agreement and sleepily looks at those stars while scooting a little closer to Jane.

And for a while, they're silent again… until…

"Jane?"

"Yes?"

Curiously, Maura peeks at the brunette. "When you were planning all of this, were you hoping that it would somehow end with us having sex?"

"Uh… nooo…?" Jane grimaces at the unconvincingness of her feeble response.

"Hmm, that's too bad," Maura murmurs and pointedly focuses her attention back on the sky. "I would have been up for that."

Almost faster than the speed of light, Jane's head jerks to the woman at her side, who firmly keeps her eyes on the stars.

And Maura lets her wait a little longer… thoroughly enjoying her revenge for her involuntary encounter with the ship's rail half an hour ago. But eventually, she gives in and grins at an impatiently glaring Jane. "I believe that was your cue, Detective…"

"Geez, woman!" Jane sighs in relief. And without waiting for a second invitation, she rolls over, slides her body on top of Maura's, and playfully nuzzles into her neck until they both chortle with joy.

But after a few rounds of tickling and teasing, Jane pauses and locks eyes with Maura, gently caressing her cheeks. "Just to be clear, with or without sex, I would've done all of this anyway."

"I know." Maura smiles at the familiar touch of Jane's fingertips wiping a strand of hair from her face.

After another moment of mutual admiration, Jane places a soft kiss on her partner's lips. "Happy birthday, Maura."

And as their bodies merge and their kisses deepen, Maura knows that she wouldn't want to miss any of this. No matter how short-lived it may be. Because while she may have been able to recite all the bones and the hormones and the chemical processes of the human body, one thing has always eluded her. But now that she is embraced by Jane's love, she understands. And with every touch of their hands, with every affectionate kiss, Maura finally feels it. She finally feels loved.

And as the two women share their love in the still of the night, one shooting star after another unnoticedly zooms across the sky. But it does not matter, because on this warm seventh night of August, Maura's wish has already come true.

…

_THE END_

_..._

_A/N:  
P.S.: Cheers to the guest reviewer who keeps leaving often incorrect legal advice all over the place. I'm flattered to get your attention. ;-)_


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